I should’ve told him, should’ve trusted him. No matter what happens, I’m telling him tonight. No more excuses. No more fear.
No more secrets.
“Are you ready, Katharine?”
The doctor with the ultrasound machine smiles down at me in a perfunctory sort of way. She’s not exactly warm, but she’s not cold, either. She’s exceedingly professional in a way that suggests she likes her job, but has been doing it for long enough that the shine is starting to wear off.
I nod. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Are we waiting for someone? Husband, boyfriend…”
“No.” I swallow hard. “No, I’m alone. It’s… just me.”
Her eyes soften a bit. “All right. This is going to be a bit cold.”
There’s a squirt sound, like squeezing the last bit of ketchup from the bottom of the bottle. A dollop of chilly gel lands on my stomach. Goosebumps appear on my arms, though they could just as easily be from nerves as the cold.
“Okay, this will just take a minute… If it’s still early, it can take a while to find a rhythm…” She’s looking at a monitor as she moves the ultrasound wand over my stomach, seeking something. My eyes press closed and as the seconds tick by, a thousand thoughts flit through my head.
Maybe it was a false positive.
Maybe I’m not actually pregnant.
Maybe all this worry and stress and heartache has been for nothing.
I’m not sure whether that possibility instills more relief or regret inside me. Before I can figure it out, a foreign sound makes my eyes fly open. Twice the speed I was expecting. Muffled, like it’s coming from underwater… but, undeniably, present.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
“There.” The doctor is smiling. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”
I turn my head to the screen, wide-eyed and breathless as I take in the sight of the blurry, black and white image.
“Right here.” She points to a tiny shape that looks a bit like a kidney bean. “That’s your baby. Do you see it?”
“I…” I suck in a sharp breath, trying to keep my emotions under control. Tears fill my eyes anyway. “Yes. I see it.”
I see it.
I see you.
Hello there, tiny dictator. I can’t wait to meet you.
* * *
Harperand I are sitting so close in the backseat our hips are practically fused together. We’re on our way to my only press tour event of the day — a talkshow interview aboutUnchartedfor an episode ofLate Night with Reggiethat will air sometime next week. She’s staring down at the picture in my hands, a look of awe on her face.
“That is one good looking grape,” she murmurs.
I roll my eyes. “It’s a blurry smudge of black and white. We have no idea what it looks like. For all we know, it could pop out looking like Al Pacino.”
“Hey!” she protests. “Leave Al Pacino alone. He was a legend in his prime, and he’s arguably quite the fox now.”
I roll my eyes.